


just like cannibals (we must be starving)

by scorpiod



Category: From Dusk Till Dawn: The Series
Genre: Bloodplay, Blow Jobs, Body Horror, Come Marking, M/M, Past Underage Sex, Sibling Incest, Vampire Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-17
Updated: 2017-08-17
Packaged: 2018-12-16 10:38:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,350
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11826990
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scorpiod/pseuds/scorpiod
Summary: Seth used to know Richie's body like it was his own, and now it's uncharted territory--five years, three months, and Richie's new skin between them | set post season 2.





	just like cannibals (we must be starving)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [opheliahyde](https://archiveofourown.org/users/opheliahyde/gifts).



Richie’s scales cover the top half of his face, from forehead to the slopes of his temples, the sides of his face--intricate green-yellow criss-cut patterns, shaped like diamonds. They’re all over his body as well, stopping at his jawline and chin but Seth’s seen them cover his shoulder blades, the pattern dissipating along side his spine, under his shirt, for the few times he’s gone full b-movie snake creature without changing into his well tailored suit. He’s too covered up most of the time to know where else those scales end up on his body, always walking around like a gentleman monster, carefully pulled together, not a single hair out of fucking place. 

Seth’s seen them up close in fleeting glimpses; it feels a bit like being a kid again, like when he used to watch Richie get dressed and his heart starting to race at the sight of his big brother’s exposed skin, always so meticulously covered--he feels a bit like a pervert, watching Richie dress and undress, gobbling up the sight, but he’s too entranced by Richie’s skin to look away.

“What are you looking at?” Richie asks when he catches Seth staring, shrugging on his suit jacket for the day, drawing himself to full height, looming over Seth still in his bed, still wrapped in Richie’s sheets. 

(they don’t share a room anymore--got their own separate quarters since Richie’s taken over operations--but Seth sneaks in to Richie’s to sleep, old rituals from when he was a kid, sometimes leaving in the morning, sometimes staying to watch Richie dress while half awake, lingering and waiting how long he can outstay his welcome, if Richie will ever kick him out one day)

 _I can’t look at you anymore?_ Seth thinks, but shakes his head instead. “Nothing, brother,” he says, and gets out of Richie’s bed, heading back to his own room, empty and cold, immaculate from disuse. 

Seth knows Richie’s shy around him now, since they’re giving this another shot, fucking baby steps, rebuilding this thing all over again from scratch--though maybe it has something to do with the way Seth held his face in the sun and threatened to burn them both alive unless Seth got what he wanted. He hasn’t apologized for it yet, not sure why he should. If Richie did that to him, he’d appreciate the proof his brother still wants him around, desperate enough to go that far. 

(Richie kisses him sometimes when he crawls into bed with him, arm slithering around him as Richie presses slow, wet kisses against the back of his neck; sometimes, it’s the other way around, and Richie lets Seth slide his hand into his underwear, fumbling for his cock in the dark--maybe that’s supposed to be proof but it’s not enough for Seth, but that’s never been enough)

It’s easy to miss Richie, even though he’s right there, right across the hall. Maybe there’s still too much space--time and distance; five years and three months, a goddamn lifetime. Richie’s never been good at opening up his mouth when it really counts, that’s always been Seth’s speciality, Seth’s gift. But his tongue keeps tripping up; it’s a delicate operation and Seth is still too sore. 

He wouldn’t know what to say, either way. 

 

*

 

“What are you doing?” Richie asks, squirming when Seth touches him, trying to wriggle away, but Seth presses close--it’s a new game of chicken, like going in reverse, touching Richie under the covers like they’re still thirteen, seeing how long Richie will stay in the bed with him, how far Seth can push it. Touching Richie out of their covers, his suit still on, waiting to be told off.

“I just wanna look at you,” Seth says, with his throat is dry, like he needs a drink of water. “Can I look at you, Richie?”

It’s night, but not late, the two of them in Richie’s quarters again, and Seth isn’t tired. Neither is Richie--Richie sleeps odd hours, sometimes during the day like a vampire and sometimes at night like he’s playing human--but Seth is amped up, heart pumping, sure that Richie can hear it, _wanting_ Richie to hear him.

“You are looking at me,” Richie says carefully, head tilted, cocked in Seth’s direction, not sure what to make of Seth in this moment.

“No,” Seth clarifies, licking his lips. He places his hand on Richie’s belly, still covered by cloth. “Can I look at you?” he asks. 

Five years in prison and then three months apart, and Richie’s body has changed so much--so much he’s missed that he doesn’t know anymore. He used to know his brother’s body as well as he knew his own and now it’s uncharted territory. It grates on him, makes his skin itch, not fuckig knowing and he needs to trace a new roadmap to make it stop, learn to navigate his brother’s skin again. 

Richie narrows his eyes. “You hate this culebra shit.” It’s a statement, not a question, point-blank range, hits Seth low in the gut.

Seth smiles, recovering easy though the jab still aches under his ribs, and places a hand on Richie’s forehead, waiting to feel them pop out and ripple throughout his body. “You know me, brother, I just talk shit. You know that, right?” 

Shit and revulsion and jealousy, all mixing together into one ugly emotion. Seth has no time for other culebras, but Richie has always been special. Richie has always been _his_ \--his to touch and kiss and fuck, his since the day he was born--and now there’s this whole part that _isn’t his_ anymore, belongs to something else, someone else--be it a snake goddess or _their new people_ , and it doesn't quite belong to Seth anymore. 

A pause as Richie assesses him, not quite believing. “I want to know you,” Seth adds. There’s a bit of a plea in his voice, a tremor that acts as a tell, close to showing his hand, just how much he _needs_.

His brother hesitates, twitching, but he doesn't pull away. Slowly, Seth feels new skin erupt out of Richie’s forehead, rippling over his fingers, shifting and changing right under him until he’s looking at his monster brother now, rigid forehead with diamondback scales the roll down his face, with fangs and slitted snake eyes to match.

He shudders, but doesn’t pull back, just keeps his hands on Richie, keeps his eyes on his brother; Richie’s always been his equilibrium, steadying Seth. 

Seth strokes Richie’s forehead, petting him, running his fingers across his forehead then under his golden eyes, touching the raised skin, the smooth scales, the cracks separating them, moving down to his jaw where the pattern disappears into his softer, human skin. Richie holds himself rigidly, a tension in his shoulders--less like a snake waiting in the grass to strike, and more like his awkward older brother, enduring Seth’s close examination; Seth misses his flush, the reddening of his skin that blossomed the first time he did this, too young to know better and full of desire. He keeps his eyes on Seth, and it hurts a little, to be looked at with suspicion, like Seth may be the one that strikes.

Seth breathes in, leans his forehead against his brother’s--the same old ritual they used to always do, started off kids, calming Richie down, calming both of them down; last time they did it was on the border, ready to cross, in front of their hostages because no one else mattered, world whittled down to the two of them. Only three months, but it feels like a lifetime ago, before Richie got his new skin.

Richie’s eyes flutter closed. His mouth hangs open just a bit, giving his fangs room to poke out--his mouth is always a terror when opened, two sharp fangs protruding, and then an expanse of pink gums, no fucking clue where the rest of his teeth hide when his fangs descend. Richie shouldn’t look so vulnerable under his hands, not with that mouth. 

Seth’s hands move to Richie’s buttons--

“Hey,” Richie protests. His voice is soft. Human sounding. He tugs away from Seth, but Seth keeps his fingers at his shirt collar.

“Hey yourself,” Seth says, chuckling, working on the top button. 

“What are you doing?” Richie asks, hint of a hiss in his voice. 

“I just want to see, Richie. Can I see?” He sounds like a kid again, a teenager, asking if he can watch his brother jerk off ( _I just want to see if you’re doing it right_ , but that was a lie and they both knew it). Thirteen years old and crawling into Richie’s bed to sleep at night. Thirty years old and still pulling the same shit.

He unbuttons Richie’s shirt, pulling it open, taking in the scales on his chest, spreading down his collarbone to his belly. They’re more scattered than the scales on his forehead, less patterned--like Richie’s chest just started turning into scales, growing them slowly, but the ones on belly cover it almost entirely--paler scales, like the underside of a snake. _Do they go down to his thighs?_ Seth wonders. _Further down?_

He licks his lips. Seth can’t help but touch him there as well, running his hands from collarbone to chest to belly, making Richie shudder, looking strange and otherworldly as something like pleasure settles over his features. 

“They’re softer than I thought,” Seth says. He expected to feel hard skin, tough to pierce, tough to tear. Maybe Richie is still tough to pierce, and his skin is harder than human flesh, but his chest and belly scales are smooth to the touch, the texture alien to him, but pleasant, not rough, and he can’t stop touching Richie there, stroking over and over. “Feels nice.” 

Richie exhales, breathing out a sigh and leaning his scaled forehead against Seth’s, yellow eyes meeting his brown, watching Seth as he explores his brother’s new body.

“I’m not actually a snake,” Richie says, in a low heavy voice, rolling over Seth’s skin. “I’m a culebra. It’s different.”

Seth chokes a laugh out. The whole half-man, half-snake thing is funny sometimes, but right now it’s just _weird_ and strangely exciting, poking and finding new parts of his brother. He drags his fingers across Richie’s nipples, his blunt nails over the sensitive nubs, raised and puckered for Seth’s fingers. Richie makes a pitched low moan in the back of his throat--held back, for sure--but exciting, tugging at Seth’s belly. That’s still the same, it seems--Richie’s small nipples are human looking and human feeling, soft and dusty pink, and they’re still sensitive as ever.

Seth glances down to find Richie’s dress slacks bulging more than normal, hardening for him already. A shudder runs through him, piquing his excitement. “Do they go further down?” he asks. 

Richie pauses, pulling away from him, and Seth grabs his wrists, holding him close, not letting him back away. Of course his strength is useless against Richie--Richie could shove him back and be gone before Seth notices--he only grabs on to what Richie will allow, holds Richie close because Richie lets him. 

“Don’t pull that shit,” Richie tells him, brow furrowing as the scales recede. 

“What shit? I’m just--”

Richie’s eyes narrow and somehow he looks fiercer like this than he did as a monster, the angry big brother stare down Seth’s seen so many times before, eye ice blue. “Don’t act like you don’t have a problem and then--”

“Then what?” Seth pushes. “I don’t--what do you want me to say? I’m here, aren’t I? I’m here with you.” Another pause, then Seth lowers his voice, tightens his grip. “You told me to go in the first place.” 

Richie’s teeth gnash. “You said you didn’t know who I was anymore.” 

“What do you think I’m trying to fucking do now, brother?” Seth snarls, hands clamping down on Richie’s wrists, nails digging under his skin.

He lost his brother in the twister, last time he saw him he was being dragged away and then he got him back, his brother and not his brother at the same time, new and twisted and scaring Seth to his bones--but it’d be less terrifying if he were _his_ again, if he could take Richie’s body and leave marks all over it, brother claims and his fingerprints and get him all dirty again, the way he used to be able to, the way Richie was able to when he a tore a hole into Seth’s throat. 

(sometimes he wishes he had teeth like Santanico does, and could bite and rip into Richie’s skin over and over until Richie felt like his again)

He lets go of Richie. “Don’t push me away again,” Seth hisses--perhaps unfairly, but Richie still stares at him with suspicion, and Seth wants that look gone; _this is your fault, you got no fucking right_ , he thinks, but he knows it takes two to tango and wreck a relationship. 

Seth gets down on his knees then, hands on Richie’s hips and he presses his lips against his soft belly, kissing with just his lips at first, then licking a slow slope from belly button to mid sternum.

Richie gasps, reaches for him, grabs Seth’s shoulders and just digs his fingers into his shirt, bunching up the material. Seth looks up at him, waiting for him to push him away, but it doesn’t come--Richie stares at him with bright blue eyes, wide behind his useless glasses. 

“You’re gonna make me stop? Or are you gonna let me touch you? Like old times?” 

_Old times_ trails off on a whisper. They never stopped touching each other--even now, when Seth crawls into Richie’s bed at night, to sleep, to let Richie fool around him--but they haven’t pushed it far, cautious and tentative and that’s just not Seth. He’s not a tentative person, no matter how much prison tried to beat the fire out of him. Richie has always been the fire in his belly.

Richie’s hands move from his shoulders, placing one in his hair, tangling the ends around his fingers. He doesn’t push down, not like how Seth wants it, but Seth plants a kiss on Richie’s belly again as scales erupt under his lips. The scales of his belly are lighter colored, beige-green and less hard lines, less raised bumps--they’re soft and taste clean against his tongue. Richie’s skin isn’t as warm as it used to be, but grows warmer with Seth’s kisses, grows warmer when he runs his tongue over them, feels his brother shudder up above him. In his hair, Seth feels Richie’s talons on his scalp, the dangerous sharp edges turning Seth on, scraping almost close enough to draw blood and wanting more. 

What a picture they must look; Seth human and on his knees, worshipping at the altar of his brother-turned-monster, half-god already, though he’s always been Seth’s religion, the code by Seth lived his life, written on is skin in black ink and white scars. 

Seth takes his time here, running his tongue over the rest of his brother’s scales--he has to get off his knees to reach any higher than his belly, but that’s good enough for right now, Richie shuddering and grabbing on tight to his hair as Seth licks and laps at the new expanse of scales. 

He starts to tug at his pants now, trying to get them off his hips, undo his belt, pull on the zipper. He catches a glimpse of scales there just under Richie’s waistband, cut into the line where his hip meets his waist, the indent of muscle, mixed and intermingled with his brother’s original pale skin. He rubs his fingers over them, pressing down, right over the place where Seth used to leave bruises. 

“You like this?” Seth looks up, Richie both alien and familiar all at once, big monster brother and his big ass fangs, snake eyes glazed over and taloned hands gripping him. 

Richie nods and that’s all the permission Seth needs--should ask clearer, should get more from Richie, but he bites down on the exposed hip, his brother hisses above him--not angry, more like a release of breath, almost human. 

“It’s not as soft,” Seth tells him when he pulls away, his fingers pushing down the elastic of his underwear. He licks him again, dragging his tongue against the ridges, the raised scales. “You’re a little harder there.” 

“I don’t know why,” Richie tells him, his voice taking on a lower, rumbling quality.

“I guess even you don’t know everything, five eyes,” Seth says, shoving his slacks all the way down, and then his underwear. 

Riche releases a breath he didn’t need to hold. His hands stroke through Seth’s hair--careful, every goddamn inch of him is careful with him, even now, with the evidence that Richie could tear him apart on display--and Seth can’t help lean into it, moan slightly at his brother’s touch, craving both the careful way he is with him and the press of sharpened nails, pulling his hands down over his cheeks. He takes a moment to kiss Richie’s nails--Richie’s talons are only an inch or so longer than normal, black at the cuticles, sharpened tips. Claws like Santanico has, though hers are sharper, longer. 

He cuts his lip a bit on the tip, just a bit, like a papercut, Seth tasting iron on his tongue.

“Seth,” Richie whispers, pulling his hands away. There’s a plea there, in his voice--or at least, Seth hopes it’s a plea; Seth doesn’t know his brother as well as he used to. Seth thinks about that as he takes Richie’s cock in his mouth, the heavy weight still feels the same on his tongue, Richie’s always been a little bigger than average, stretching out his mouth. It’s muscle memory for Seth, obscenely easy, to hollow out his cheeks and relax his mouth, his throat muscles, and swallow him down to the root.

Richie groans, hips bucking up into the heat of his mouth, _overeager motherfucker_ , who reaches for Seth and grabs on too tight, his tightly wound control unfurling for Seth, for Seth’s mouth. Seth rides it out, remembering all those tricks he’s learned, always been good at sucking cock, his brother’s cock especially. Richie does it again when he runs his tongue on the under the shaft, when he applies suction and pressure and lets his tongue slide around, his hands on Richie’s hips still, rubbing the scales there. There are scales at the top of his thighs, littering his skin, more blue-yellow than green-yellow, patchwork-design almost. They stop there, don’t go past his knees, the rest of him staying human. 

Seth takes one hand off his hips to stroke the sensitive skin there, at his inner thighs, both soft human skin and smooth snake scales. Richie moans for him, raw and aching, slowly stripping apart, Seth shaking down that held tight control his brother loves.

This time Seth does choke when Richie thrusts in, his hand on the back of Seth’s hair, not quite holding him down, but Seth could tell he wanted to hold him against his cock, could feel the pressure in his thighs and legs and arms, the way he was vibrating with it. It hurts, but Seth loves the feeling, gagging around his brother’s cock. 

_Go on, fuck my mouth_ , Seth wants to say, but instead, “You taste the same,” comes out of his mouth when he pulls off, wrapping a hand around the base of his cock and jacking him as he looks up at Richie, keeping him on edge. Richie tastes slightly salty and musky, the taste lingering in the back of his throat, old memory triggered, tongue against the roof of his mouth, trying to trap the flavor. Seth’s jeans are tight against his cock, aching to touch himself, but he’s old enough that he won’t come all over himself anymore, that he can wait. He smirks up at Richie, licking his lips. “I still love how you taste, brother.” 

“ _Fuck_ , Seth,” Richie moans, looking away from him--his face ripples over and over, human not human, snake and man, smooth and hard. Seth’s never seen that before, the flickering between two forms, each trying to take control and neither quite winning. 

“You really like this, don’t you?” 

“Yeah,” Richie breathes out. “You’re so warm.” He grabs a little too hard to his scalp, and his nails press in; Seth winces from the pain. He wonders if he drew blood. He wants him to.

“You missed this?” he asks, slowing down the pumps of his hand, he doesn’t want Richie distracted for this, touches him just enough to hold his attention.

“I missed you,” Richie gasps out, half monster and half human, features flickering once more before they settle on his scales, and yes, that’s what Seth wanted to hear, what he wanted to fucking see. 

He goes back to sucking his cock, relishing it this time, taking his time, sucking and licking Richie’s velvety smooth head before wrapping his lips around it. His cock feels as human as it did five years ago, precome tastes like Richie’s precome, no taste of iron or snake scales. Seth moans on Richie’s cock, loving the way it makes Richie shake and shudder above him, the vibrations coursing through him, rolling down his throat. His own cock throbs, twitching in his briefs, wanting more.

Seth pulls off. It’s worth it just to see Richie gasp, growling low in his throat before he stops himself, like he didn’t realize he was doing it. 

“Seth--”

“Get on the bed,” he orders, getting to his feet. His knees ache from being on the floor-- _getting too old for this_ \--but still, Richie doesn’t move. He cocks his head to the side, staring at Seth curiously. His vertical pupils have red around them, Seth notices, and it makes him a little uncomfortable, the way Richie is sizing him up.

He pushes Richie back himself, and Richie goes then, either walking backwards or just letting Seth push him around--pushes Richie back until he lands back first on his bed. 

“Go on,” Seth says, most of Richie’s long legs hanging off. “Get on it.” 

Richie obeys, scooting himself up on the bed, pants hanging around his ankles, shrugging himself out of his suit jacket and button-up. Seth does him one last favor, tugging his shoes off, then his pants off entirely, then climbs on top of him, straddling him--not quite settled on his cock but close enough, close enough to feel it bump and rub against him, Seth shaking above him.

“You gonna help or not?” Seth says as he starts undoing his own shirt. His skin is overheated. 

Richie rises up easy, sitting up now. He doesn’t go for the buttons--he goddamn shreds his shirt, tearing it apart at the shoulders and pulling scraps off him. 

“ _Jesus_ ,” Seth says. 

“You told me to help,” Richie growls--he’s tugging at his jeans now, shoving them down and tearing them in the process as well. “I’m helping.” 

“You don’t want me to walk out of here,” Seth accuses, but he doesn’t give Richie a chance to respond, leans forward to kiss him hard on the lips. His brother moans against him like he didn’t see that coming, grabbing him by the hips and pulling him forward and down, and then the two of them are just groaning and rubbing up against each other, Seth’s cock finally freed from his underwear, rubbing up against Richie’s hard, exposed cock. They moan into each other’s mouths and everything feels almost normal, on the same rhythm, almost like old times, _almost_...

He bites down on Richie’s lip, sucking his bottom lip into his mouth, then pulling away to brush his tongue up against his brother’s fangs.

“Seth,” Richie warns, pulling away, his mouth shifting back to normal, blunt teeth coming back.

“No,” Seth says, placing his fingers against his lips. “No, let me feel. Fuck you, Richie, I can take it.” Seth leans his forehead against Richie’s once more. “It’s hot, you get me so hot like this,” he whispers, confesses like Richie can’t feel it, can’t feel his cock aching and hard against his own. 

Richie shudders, tilting his head back, eyes sliding shut. His fangs fully extend and they are long, nightmarishly long, teeth rolling back into his mouth somehow as his front teeth become just two snake fangs filled with venom and raised gums. 

Seth doesn’t waste time, licking into Richie’s mouth, running his tongue over his gums--Richie tastes like blood, sharp and iron and metallic on his teeth, like he just fed and Seth’s stomach lurches, his cock twitching as he imagines it. His brain goes to all sorts of ugly places, imagining some poor sucker Richie tore apart, a shudder running through him as he thinks about it--watching Richie dole out violence to some deserving fuck has always been it’s own kind of kink for him, but it’s gotten worse lately, for the both of them. 

He presses his tongue against the sharp tip of fangs, pressing in, awful thoughts about Richie’s venom going through his head, wanting to taste it, feel what a little prick could do--and Richie pushes him away then.

“Seth, you’re going to--”

Seth pushes Richie down against the bed, pushing his brother flat and hard. His cock drags against Richie’s belly at this angle, against his scales and the texture feels shockingly good against his cock, Seth letting out a moan as his dick rubs up against the new sensations, rutting against his brother; he wants to paint Richie’s scales with his come, cover Richie in it and rub it in against his skin, tell him _you’re mine_ every way he can.

“Seth--”

Seth doesn’t give Richie any time to protest, to think--he just bites down on Richie’s throat--not the gentle love bites and not the hickey sucking bites he used to do, but bites down as hard as he can, grabbing Richie’s flesh between his teeth and grinding and tugging. 

Richie bucks up into him, his talons clawing Seth’s back--Seth doesn’t know if he even realized it, but there’s fresh blood in the air now, on Richie’s nails, sharp stinging pain in his back. His brother groans low and deep, a rumbling noise that spreads through Seth’s chest and body and all the way down his spine, feeling it course through him. Richie arches up and Seth thinks he can do this, tear into Richie like Santanico must have and make him _his_ again. 

“What the fuck, Seth?” Richie asks, grabbing him by the hair and tugging him off, baring his throat to him as he holds his head up.

There’s blood in Seth’s mouth. He tore the skin, even if it stitches itself back together too soon, too quick. Seth smirks wide at his brother, baring his blood stained teeth.

“Serves you right,” Seth growls. “Maybe I get hungry too.” 

Richie’s snake slitted eyes blink at him. “Seth,” he starts, “you don’t _feed_.” 

“But you’re mine,” Seth says. “Maybe I want a piece of you.” 

It’s a lie. Seth wants all of him, every inch--he’s not a culebra, but he knows what it feels like to want to devour and consume.

It’s good enough for Richie though, mouth open and licking his lips, his own fangs. He drags Seth to him by the hair and kisses him hard again, tongue finding his own blood on Seth’s lips and teeth, licking it off. 

_Christ_ , Seth thinks and it comes out in a low groan, his cock throbbing and twitching, desperately grinding down on Richie’s skin and scales. When Richie lets him breathe, Seth isn’t thinking anymore, he just bares his throat for him willingly, the side with the tattoo crawling up his neck, where Richie first tore into him only three months ago and Seth couldn’t stop touching the reminder, _Richie was here_ , Richie on his skin long after he left.

“Do it again,” Seth tells him, gasping, begging. 

He expects Richie to protest, say something about it being dangerous, but he’s too far gone as well. Richie sinks his teeth in--the other side of his neck this time, the inkless one, a matching set, like the two of them--groaning low and heavy against Seth, clutching Seth tightly to him. Pain blooms in his neck, but Seth keeps grinding his cock against Richie’s cock, his hands clumsily trying to jerk them both off, grip them close together--he can’t help himself at all anymore, and the dual sensations feel like ecstasy to him, washing over him, reducing him to whines and whimpers. 

They come like that, rubbing and rutting against each like teenagers, blood in both their mouths. Seth’s orgasm hits first, spilling over on his hand and his brother’s scales, white rivlets of come spurting across his chest and belly, stick and warm. Richie pulls off his throat before Seth gets woozy, and comes with a low rumbling groan, head thrown back as blood runs down his chin and throat, messy and glorious and beautiful. 

(After, Seth smears come on Richie’s belly, scales still exposed; he’s not sure whose come it is and doesn’t really care--he just wants to relish in the sensation of pushing it into Richie’s skin, seeing Richie covered in him. He gets blood from his own neck on his fingers as well, swirling the two bodily fluids together. Richie frowns at him, and Seth holds his fingers up to Richie’s bloodied lips.

Richie licks the blood and come off his fingertips, sucking them into his mouth, eyes fluttering shut as he savors the taste. Seth’s spent, but he feels a frisson of something run down his spine at the sight, feeling closer to Richie than he has in years, and all he wants to do is _more more more_ )

 

*

 

Richie lights up a cigarette after in bed, another thing that has stayed the same. Seth sits next to him, shoulder to shoulder, half asleep and watching him do it, caught up in a memory of being a kid and wanting to kiss the smoke out of Richie’s mouth, wanting a cigarette too because Richie did it (he never picked up smoking, that was never his bad habit, but for a while he wanted to do it, simply because his brother did--his brother always looked good blowing smoke out of his lungs).

“So what else can you do?” Seth asks him. 

Richie shrugs, leaning back, blowing out smoke into the ceiling. “You already seen what I can do.”

“I’m just curious,” Seth says, glancing down at between Richie’s legs. “You get thigh scales, that is some shit, brother, you’re the fucking lizard man. Does your dick ever get scaly?”

“My dick stays the way it is!” Richie says, hyper defensive. A pause. “Mostly.”

“Mostly? What the fuck?” 

“Sometimes things get...weird.” Richie says. Another puff of smoke. Seth waits for several minutes before he realizes he’s not gonna elaborate. 

“Weird how?” He asks.

Richie shrugs. “Weird. Like how my tongue sometimes gets longer like a snake’s or a--”

“Wait, what?” Seth asks, fixating on Richie’s mouth suddenly, looking for forked tongues. “Your tongue does what? It fucking grows?”

“Not right now, Seth!” Richie says, flustered. He doesn’t turn red like he used to, but all the other telltale signs are there, the raised voice, the looking away, playing with his cigarette. “Just. sometimes my tongue gets kind of long.”

Seth wonders what that’ll feel like on his dick, what it’ll feel like sliding inside of him-- _it fucking grows_. He’s quiet for too long because Richie meets his eyes like he can see what he’s thinking. 

“You’ve been holding out on me, brother,” Seth breathes, and Richie chuckles with him. 

“Some other time.”

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you enjoy the late birthday gift, Heather <3333333


End file.
